


Blank Cards and Infinite Stakes

by dimeliora



Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M, Slight underage, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-21
Updated: 2013-08-21
Packaged: 2017-12-24 06:17:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/936393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dimeliora/pseuds/dimeliora
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It begins as all legendary things begin; with ice cream. Once again the angel Aziraphale and the demon Crowley are left to save the human world they’re so enamored with.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Prologue:**  
“God does not play dice with the universe; He plays an ineffable game of His own devising, which might be compared, from the perspective of any of the other players [i.e. everybody], to being involved in an obscure and complex variant of poker in a pitch-dark room, with blank cards, for infinite stakes, with a Dealer who won't tell you the rules, and who _  
smiles all the time   
_.”  
― Terry Pratchett, _Good Omens_

 

**What Follows Are The True Events That Would Have Led To A Second Apocalypse As Recorded By The Former Apostles Bartholomew, Thomas, and Alphaeus, Who Had Nothing Better To Do.**

 

There are a plethora of opinions on what the cause was. Many scholars and prophets blame history’s cyclical nature. They point to the relationship of Michael and Lucifer, and how that went on to influence Cain and Abel and many other tales of brothers turning against brothers with disastrous results. There is a very dedicated and serious group of prophets that claim the destiny of Dean and Samuel Winchester can be pinned to a very obscure passage in the Book of Enoch that is not worth recounting here as its grasp of proper plot structure is very weak and unpleasant for most readers.

All of these sources are wrong though. In fact before this accounting only one person ever really understood the beginning of the end, and that was simply because God told him.

It began as all legendary things begin; with ice cream. Gabriel, the third of the Lord’s greatest archangels is notorious for not only his sweet tooth, but his innate ability to gain his goals and wishes through a combination of manipulation and wheedling. After two centuries of bothering his father for a treat better than honey or manna God had finally had enough. The result of this was the first ice cream cone, humans would later title the flavor Moose Tracks, and a rather pleased Gabriel. _Too pleased_ as history would later prove, since the next words out of his mouth were, “This is good enough to end Creation over.”

Why this became the Lord’s reasoning for ending the world, or how Gabriel felt about that, has been lost to time. All that we know for certain is that Gabriel was sent to tell the prophecy to an ox cart driver named Uzzah, son of Abinadab, and a Levite who took his job very seriously.

If you know the story of Uzzah, please don’t ruin it for the rest of the audience. Uzzah was well-known as a very responsible and meticulous cart driver. His oxen were well-cared for, his carts in peak condition, and he was always on time. In those days cart drivers with that sort of attention to detail were few and far between. Maybe it was this set of qualities that made Uzzah God’s choice for receiving such an important prophecy, or maybe He just liked Uzzah, but whatever the reason Uzzah’s devotion to his job ultimately made him a terrible prophet.

Shortly after Gabriel had delivered the prophecy Uzzah was tasked with taking the Ark of the Covenant, and in the process Uzzah’s oxen stumbled, and his meticulous care for cargo gained him a rather nasty smiting. Why would God smite His prophet you ask? We asked that too, but no one really knows and that’s the way of things. What we do know is that when Uzzah was supposed to be writing down his prophecy he was instead oiling the axles of his cart.

Luckily for Uzzah, and unluckily for us, this oversight went unnoticed by the majority of Heaven for thousands of years, until the day that a young woman named Mary Campbell decided that it was too hot to be training with her father and went for ice cream.

 

**Part 1:**

“That's how it goes, you think you're on top of the world, and suddenly they spring Armageddon on you. The Great War, the Last Battle. Heaven versus Hell, three rounds, one Fall, no submission. And that'd be that. No more world. That's what the end of the world meant. No more world. Just endless Heaven or, depending who won, endless Hell. Crowley didn't know which was worse.”  
-Terry Pratchett _Good Omens_

Crowley was on top of the world. His prospects in Hell were looking up, he was gaining favor and power, and most importantly he no longer had to deal with the more bothersome and stupid demons he had once been required to communicate with. After the events of the near-Apocalypse Crowley’s following became somewhat devoted. As it turned out, a good number of the demons in Hell had no interest in the world ending.

His promotion to Vice President in Charge of North American Crossroads was a coup of epic proportions, and in some bizarre twist his rise in power meant that the tapes in his car avoided their inevitable Queen conversion for an extra month. The only thing he was missing, not that he would admit to it under any circumstances, was the presence of Aziraphale.

America had its perks, the increase in guns and decrease in boiled foodstuffs being chief among them, but he found himself missing the stuffy angel more than he thought he would. Sure they still got together every third Sunday for a chat, but there was a loss in easy camaraderie that Crowley really hadn’t expected.

That aside life was good, and Crowley roamed the highways and streets of American cities collecting souls and glory as he found new and exciting ways to pervert mankind. The stress of the Summer of Adam, as he had begun to call it, melted away and left him with a pervasive sense of ease.

All of that came crashing to a halt the day he visited his superior and learned of the Winchester prophecy. How it had slipped their attention for so long he didn’t know, but it wasn’t just them. Word was that Heaven was scrambling just as frantically to catch up. The second boy was about to be born, and a demon Crowley vaguely knew had some overly complicated and pretentious plot to speed along their roles in the Apocalypse.

And that was not something Crowley was willing to allow. After all the work they had done, the idea that two human boys would screw it up just because they happened to have a passing resemblance to that prick Michael and the whiny Lucifer was just a step too far in Crowley’s opinion.

Thusly Crowley found himself once more in the musty little shop Aziraphale called home as he stared at his tea and considered their options.

“What could you possibly mean there’s another Apocalypse? The very meaning of the word makes such a thing impossible. One world, one ending, and that’s the way it’s supposed to be.” Aziraphale sipped his tea imperiously, and Crowley wondered, not for the first time, how they had managed to be friends for so very long.

“Semantics aside, my friend, that is what is happening. You’re telling me that with all your connections you haven’t heard a single thing about it? Not even whispers?” Crowley waited for the angel to put down his tea and turn a baleful glare towards a potential customer before pouring a shot of whiskey in both their glasses. Aziraphale was notoriously easier to deal with drunk.

 “Nothing. Then again, lately I haven’t heard anything else either. I imagine no one is quite sure what to make of me after that summer.” The angel finally succeeding in running the matronly woman off, and as soon as she was gone he plucked up the book she had been eyeing and moved it across the store before returning to the table.

“Aziraphale, listen to me carefully. This is happening. Both boys have been born, and their mother is going to be taken out of the picture soon. We have to do something.”

The angel’s eyes narrowed as he sipped his tea obliviously. “I don’t suppose that simply killing this demon would solve our problem?”

“Oh well. No. Probably not. Azazel had supporters, and they’d carry the work on afterwards. Although…maybe…” Crowley looked out the dirty shop window and considered the bustling street. “Maybe if they weren’t so close to one another. If they were strangers then they wouldn’t be so willing to end the world to save each other. Right?”

“That’s brilliant. Yes. We could split them up. Then we’ll each monitor our own brother and make sure that they’re not raised in a fashion that would put them in danger of ending the world. But we’ll still need to kill the demon to confuse your side. Make it harder for them to track Samuel.”

“And we’ll need someone who’s active in Heaven to tell us their plans and then help us keep the halos off of Dean.” It was a perfect plan. Simply, easy to execute, and easy to uphold. All they had to do was make sure that the Winchester brothers never met each other again.

“I think I know someone.” Aziraphale put down his teacup and adjusted his spectacles. “Just the right someone.”

\----

Angels, as a general rule, are supposed to be good. In the general sense of good of course, because it must always be remembered that when you say good you are using a term that is highly subjective, and any angel will remind you that, since Heaven is the final arbitrator of the term, they have the right to change the definition without notification or full explanation.

In that sense what Aziraphale did next may seem less than angelic or good to the general audience but in reality was the very definition of good as he was applying it that day. The angel he chose to speak to was one that had a common interest with him; namely the fate of humanity. He found himself sitting across from the younger angel in a café in Paris as  the streets teemed with confused tourists and superior feeling locals.

“So you see if we allow them to continue on the path they’re on it will end in the Apocalypse. Obviously the only course is to make sure that they never know each other, and therefore cannot start the end times. Don’t you agree, Castiel?”

Sharp blue eyes studied him for a long time before the gravelly voice responded. “I do not – I am not sure I understand. What you are suggesting is that we subvert the plan of allowing them to approach disaster before intervening. This seems like rebelling, Aziraphale.”

He sipped his tea and frowned. “Rebelling? No, no, never that. It’s simply a – reinterpretation of the plan. A simple alteration meant only to help stop Lucifer. After all, remember Babel and the Plagues? God is very interested in the long game you know. This is the long game. It seems irresponsible to wait until the last second, doesn’t it?”

Castiel frowned slightly and looked over the crowd around them. “And you are sure it is alright to hide them from Heaven as well? That this will not upset the balance of good and evil?”

“Well that’s the beauty of the plan, Castiel. You see, you watch the older brother and make sure that he is growing up as a fine and upstanding young man, and there will be a demon overseeing the younger brother. The balance is perfectly upheld, and everything else falls in line. So will you help us?”

For a moment Aziraphale was honestly worried that Thursday’s angel was going to say no. That this would end before it had even begun, because of the rigorous programming they had begun to apply to the younger angels after the rash of falls in the beginning. Instead Castiel nodded seriously and stood.

“Let us begin then.”

\---

It’s important to give a small amount of space here to the death of Azazel. When this record was first being compiled some thought that this was simply indulgence in revenge fantasies, but it has since been proven that the relatively quick and unnoticed death of the demon who had played a small, albeit important, role in the original destiny of the Winchesters is relevant to the rest of the story. Suck on that one, Alphaeus.

In traditional Biblical exegesis, Azazel is a name attached to specific goats, and translates to something along the lines of “to be sent away” or “outcast”. This is an unfortunate bit of translation. When the writers stated that the goats that would not be sacrificed to the Lord were “for Azazel” what he was recording was a bit of an inside joke amongst his people. Azazel was a small village that had a reputation much like parts of the deep South. To be specific, without becoming too vulgar, the village was infamous for its questionable mating rituals with four-legged creatures.

The Hebrews, and many cultures afterwards, have spoken strongly against these types of practices. The animals, despite certainly having no complicit guilt in the crime, were typically labeled as unclean. They were not allowed to be eaten and were considered an unfit sacrifice to the Lord.

Thusly, Azazel, was synonymous with goat violations, and the origin of the demon gaining this name can go without explicit explanation. Alphaeus rightly points out that this clarification was not necessary to the rest of this tale, but the other authors feel that learning is always a good thing.

The death of the demon Azazel was nothing legendary or impressive. It would be summarily cut from any Michael Bay movie, and has no glorious one-liners or epic showdowns. In fact Azazel’s death consisted of him opening a door and being stabbed once, but very thoroughly, with a Kurdish demon-killing knife.

Afterwards Crowley dumped Azazel near an infamous Hunter’s bar and let someone else find him and draw their own conclusions.

With the only man that knew his own plan out of the way, (demon paranoia could be so useful some times) Crowley went to work on Sam. He found the most middle-of-the-road, childless parents he possibly could and cut a deal that would have been shameful under different circumstances. The woman took Sam, sobbing and thanking him, and Crowley rushed off to balance his karma and wash the good taste out of his mouth.

\---

Aziraphale’s job was admittedly harder. In the course of his existence the angel had presided over the exile from the Garden, faced the punishment of “losing” his flaming sword, befriended one of Hell’s more likable demons, and successfully run a shop for forty-eight years without selling more than two books.

All of that paled in comparison to talking a Winchester into anything.

It should have been relatively easy to push a little Grace into John and have him believing in the story Crowley and Aziraphale had concocted, but for some reason it took seven tries before John would even believe that Mary’s death was an accident. After that it was another nineteen tries to get John to believe he only had one son.

It took both Aziraphale and Castiel to reprogram Dean, and even then there were lingering emotions for his little brother that neither angel could understand or erase. When all was said and done, John Winchester was left still broken over the death of his wife, but with a renewed sense of purpose to caring for his son.

Afterwards Aziraphale released the Winchesters into Castiel’s care and devoted himself to the unpleasant task of moving his shop overseas.

\---

Here the authors must request that the readers show a little patience with the explanation of what happened next that caused Crowley and Aziraphale’s original plan to go awry. Plans, even very good ones, created by very wise and old beings, are never a sure thing. While Crowley and Aziraphale’s age cannot be contested, their respective levels of wisdom widely differ.

The two conspirators had not taken into account several very important details in both the original destiny, and the tendency for their plans to go horribly awry.

Samuel Winchester was raised with great devotion and love by the Sloans and wanted for very little. He was a bright, inquisitive boy, who rarely gave his parents much trouble beyond a habit of getting injured while exploring his environment and testing his theories. By age five Sam was smarter than any of his peers, fond of reading, and had a rather testy imaginary friend named Crowley. His parents made no connection between this, and the man who had originally given them the baby.

Not once did Sam question that his life was good, and despite how often his imaginary friend suggested being more troublesome for his parents, Sam was insistent on not being a hassle for them. A part of it was his natural inclination towards sweetness, something that was often noticed and remarked upon by other adults as being both precocious and charming. Another part was that Sam secretly harbored a belief that there was something more. Something inherently special that Sam was meant for, and that the only way to achieve it was to be the best he could be.

Now many children in this day and age are raised to believe that they are unique and beautiful snowflakes, an idea that is often horribly incorrect, but in Sam’s case it was completely applicable. So, much to Crowley’s disgust. Sam was a volunteer for both the local homeless shelter and the animal shelter by the time he was thirteen. He was the top of his class, two grades ahead of schedule, and the darling of every adult’s eyes.

Crowley’s involvement with Sam’s life began to wane as he got older and more inquisitive. Sam understood that, at his age, it was odd that he was still seeing his imaginary friend, and that said imaginary friend thought so differently from him. He had considered several mental health issues before dismissing each one in favor of the more obvious answer: Crowley was a part of his special destiny.

So Sam did what any other overly intelligent youth was wont to do. He started to ask questions.

“Crowley, why do you always want me to do bad things?”

The demon squinted across the soccer field Sam was on the sidelines of and then sipped his whiskey.

“Bad is such a relative term, Moose. For example it may seem bad to perpetuate a flood, but the fish love it.”

Sam bit his lip and laced his shoes a little more tightly. “Okay. So you’re telling me things that are subjectively bad to me and good to you. Which means you have a different moral compass than I do.”

“Everyone has a different moral compass than you. Look at your life, Sam. You’re fourteen, and you can’t stop helping people. You don’t surf the web for porn, you’ve never smoked a cigarette, and you refuse to go to a party that doesn’t have parental supervision. You’re an over-sized saint. It’s not natural.”

“Maybe it should be.” Sam grumbled as he finished his laces. Cody Johnston, bane of Sam’s existence, barked a laugh from behind him.

“Talking to your invisible friend again, Sammy? Jesus you’re so sad.”

Despite being labeled a saint, Sam did not warn Cody that Crowley’s foot was stuck out when the boy went to run past them onto the field. He also did not laugh too loudly when the bully face-planted into the grass. The authors agree no one will blame him for that.

“All I’m saying, kid, is that it wouldn’t hurt you to branch out a little bit. Try some rebellion. Maybe curse once in a while. What do you say?” Crowley finished off his drink and looked out over the field where Cody was limping to join the team with tears on his face, and a wailing accusation pointed at Sam.

“I don’t need that. After this game I want to ask you another thing or two about-“ But Sam was cut off just in time to preserve Crowley’s secrets as his coach shouted for him.

After the game Sam headed home with Crowley listing all the places in the course of the match that he could have cheated to have won by a larger margin. It didn’t matter to Sam though because his stable and happy life was just fine the way it was. He didn’t need to win by more points, and he didn’t need to be publicly admired or adored the way Crowley seemed to want him to be.

In fact, what his imaginary friend wasn’t aware of, was that Sam was flying high not just on his achievements, but on the fact that the classmate he had been enamored with for over two years had finally agreed to a date. In just one short week Sam believed he would be on his first date, and from there he was assured a boyfriend before prom.

The Sloans were waiting for Sam when he came through the door, and Mrs. Sloan smiled broadly at her son before kissing his forehead.

“Honey, your dad I need to talk to you.”

Sam poured himself a glass of milk and drank deeply before smiling at his nervous looking father and mother. “What’s up?”

“Well Sammy I – uh I’ve been transferred. We’re moving.”

“Fuck.”

Crowley clapped happily.

\----

Dean Winchester was not quite the same story. Despite Aziraphale and Castiel’s best intentions John Winchester’s life trajectory was not quite as upwardly mobile as they would have preferred. To be specific the man fell into a rut quite quickly.

It wasn’t that John didn’t love his son, or that he didn’t try his best, but without Mary John was anchorless and alone. Castiel and Aziraphale had no way of predicting this, because, as Seraphs, they’d had little training in the complicated interactions and connections between human beings. Especially those directly affected by a Cupid.

So yes, John loved his son, but in the end Dean was often left to care for himself. Between his father’s long hours at whatever garage he was working at and the monthly benders John was prone to going on, Dean was independent by age six. He was capable of making perfectly passable meals, cleaning up the house, and generally caring for himself in every way that was necessary.

John would have periods of clarity where he was there, and in those times he and Dean would watch old Westerns or TV shows and chat about nothing. John was always grateful that his son was so capable and understanding, and Dean was always loyal to his father.

The first time Castiel was required to step in was Dean’s second day of first grade. A classmate accused Dean of having poor people’s clothing, and Dean smartly responded by punching him in the nose. It was Castiel that sat beside the boy and soothed him as he cried his heart out on the bench outside of the school, while he and the principal waited on his father to pick him up. John was three hours late.

By third grade Dean no longer cried, and by fifth grade he had found his niche. It was easy to be the town bad boy, netted Dean a ridiculous number of favors and gifts from admirers, and scared off potential bullies. He was known to be hard, callous, and a lothario.

The angel would have been concerned, were it not for how much he understood Dean’s motivations. The boy was missing his brother without understanding that the hunger he could never satisfy had nothing to do with random hook-ups, food, or alcohol. It helped that Castiel was able to recognize Dean’s better qualities buried underneath the rebel façade.

When Aziraphale finally finished relocating his shop to Lebanon, Missouri, he helped Castiel with the careful viewing of Dean and his situation. Aziraphale agreed that the boy was good at heart, and that this would make the rest of his behavior forgivable.

The angels’ intervention had to remain subtle, but it was with their help that Dean managed to stay focused long enough to finish high school. One year later they had just barely talked him into introductory courses at the local college through a combination of dalliances with slutty co-eds and subliminal messages.

Dean’s life consisted of his part-time work at his father’s shop, courses, sexual escapades, and his band. Luckily for this story, and the world, even Dean was beginning to see that his hedonism could only fill so much of the void, and that was the revelation that would lead him to make the single most important decision of his life one sunny August afternoon.

And now, the authors would like to remind the readers that, while what happens next will seem like a huge oversight on the parts of both Crowley and the two angels, there is no telling how much was their own ineptitude and how much was the Lord’s ineffability.


	2. Chapter 2

**Part 2:**

“It used to be thought that the events that changed the world were things like big bombs, maniac politicians, huge earthquakes, or vast population movements, but it has now been realized that this is a very old-fashioned view held by people totally out of touch with modern thought. The things that really change the world, according to Chaos theory, are the tiny things. A butterfly flaps its wings in the Amazonian jungle, and subsequently a storm ravages half of Europe.”  
-Terry Pratchett _Good Omens_

Sam’s life, suddenly uprooted and made horribly unstable, really didn’t change until the day that Lee Mattheson took him for ice cream. Until that moment Sam had managed to make it through three months of study at Lebanon Senior High without running into anything worse than minor bullying and a particularly warty and unpleasant pre-Calc teacher.

At his old school Sam had been fine despite being younger than his classmates because he’d had a small core group of friends that looked out for him and intercepted any potential danger. At Lebanon he’d been left floating in an unfriendly student body, not just the new kid but the _egg headed_ new kid, and had learned very quickly that the movies did not completely blow out of proportion how uncomfortable that situation could be.

A sixteen-year-old senior could only fly under the radar for so long before trouble found him, and in Sam’s case that trouble was only headed off by the rather solicitous Lee Mattheson, President of the Student Body, and all around presentable douchebag. Bartholomew swears that is the proper use of the term although neither of the other authors is terribly familiar with it.

Whatever he may have been carrying in a bag Lee was indeed not the best of people despite his untarnished reputation, and while Sam was an intelligent young man he was not the best judge of character.

Lee’s advances had been unsuccessful so far as Sam was too interested in making sure that he knew his way around the school and around town. The older boy had finally decided that the direct approach was the best, and in that interest he offered to take Sam for ice cream as it was a rather hot day.

They were sitting outside the shop, Sam licking at his soft-serve while Lee attempted to suggestively spoon Mint Chocolate Chip into his mouth, when Sam found the thing that had been missing all his life. Or the person.

It wasn’t Dean’s good looks, or his inappropriately dark clothing, or even the tattoo that peeked out of the collar of his shirt and stopped a short way up his neck that caught Sam’s attention. It was the way the older boy was speaking to thin air as he gestured passionately with a popsicle.

Sam knew those hand gestures, that exasperated expression, and he especially knew the particularly unique experience of being so used to talking to an invisible being that one could easily forget they were doing so in public. He pointed towards the young punk and turned to Lee.

“Who is that?”

Lee’s eyes traveled in the direction Sam was pointing and narrowed before widening. “Oh Sam. No. No, believe me you don’t want anything to do with _that_.”

Something hot and angry flared in Sam at the tone. “Why not?”

“That’s _Dean Winchester_. Trouble with a capital T. Almost dropped out of Lebanon High, uses community college as a way to slut around, and thinks he’s the biggest badass ever because he’s in a band. Plus, his dad is a huge drunk, and you are totally not his type Sam. Too smart and not loose enough.”

“Alcoholism is a disease that needs understanding not condemnation.” Sam’s response was mechanical as he watched Dean turn away from the thin air. He knew that gesture too. Whoever Dean had been speaking to had left. “And stereotypes are often irrelevant and baseless.”

With that Sam practically launched himself out of his chair and across the pavement.

And here is where Crowley, Aziraphale, and by extension Castiel made a terrible mistake. The angel had spotted the demon hanging back in the distance and gone to see what his business in Lebanon was. While he may have been willing to subvert his usual code of conduct to work with Aziraphale’s friend that didn’t mean he would stand idly by as humans sold their souls.

Crowley on the other hand was so amused by how badly Lee was failing at picking up Sam that he was considering dangling an offer in front of the boy just to see how desperate he was. When he finally spotted Castiel headed towards him he immediately assumed that Thursday’s Angel was being lax in his duties and was prepared to give a righteous speech about the perils of laziness and inattentiveness.

This parallel set of assumptive moments was what allowed the Cupid to go unnoticed. It is universally known that Cupids are in possession of a set of characteristics and qualities that are rather unappreciated by everyone not in their Choir. No one cares for a Cupid’s greeting, their conversations tend to be nothing but flowery nonsense, and their tendency to act before logically considering the consequences are only a few examples of their failings.

In this case the Cupid saw the two boys, recognized them as soul mates, and took aim. It would be a good time for the authors to tell the audience here that this was a piece of the prophecy that had not been released, and as such it was not the fault of our plucky protagonists that they did not plan for such an eventuality.

Instead let us focus on this moment, when twenty-year-old Dean turned from the empty space that Castiel had been inhabiting to see a gangly young man in a Polo shirt and khakis heading towards him through the hot, late summer sun. Dean noticed the intent look in the kid’s eyes, the purpose in his stride, and thought this was an interesting place for some idiot to decide to prove his alpha maleness.

Then, the Cupid’s arrow struck, and all Dean could think was that the little spattering of moles and the soft pink lips looked incredibly kissable. That he’d never seen eyes that myriad grouping of colors, and that if the kid’s hands were any indicator he was going to fit those long arms and legs pretty soon.

On Sam’s part the impact changed very little. He’d known from the moment he saw Dean that this was his missing piece, and now he understood what the puzzle was. Pleased with himself the Cupid prepared to leave, and ended locked in place by the Grace of a confused Seraphim and the glare of a Demon.

“Uh – hello there! Would you like a greeting?” The nude Cupid smiled, jowls quivering visibly with his nerves.

“No we would not like a bloody greeting. We would like to know what it is you just did you corpulent, small-minded, twat.” Crowley stepped into the Cupid’s space and held his gaze until he heard Castiel clear his throat behind him.

“Brother, what the demon wishes to know specifically is if you just targeted that boy over there and Dean Winchester.” He pointed towards Sam and Dean, and missed the horror spreading over Crowley’s face.

“That’s Dean Winchester? Wow. Wow!” The Cupid’s face brightened and his eyes turned dreamy. “I shot a Winchester. At an ice cream parlor no less! History does love to repeat itself. Just like his mother met his father. If they hold true to pattern then the two of them should begin fighting in-“

Crowley had spun on Castiel. “Did you say _Dean Winchester_? That pretty boy is Dean Winchester?”

Castiel raised his eyebrow slightly and stood his ground. “Yes. Of course it is. Why would I be anywhere but with Dean? He is my charge Crowley.”

The demon pulled at his short hair before turning to the Cupid. “Take it back.”

Both angels stared at Crowley blankly. Crowley, in case you are unfamiliar with his history, fell before the first humans. In this way his knowledge on Human/Angel protocol was quite lacking. His understanding of love and soul mates even more so.

“He cannot take it back.”

“I can’t take it back.”

Crowley considered the pros and cons of killing both of them, and then took a deep and steadying breath. “ _Why not_?”

“Because they’re meant to be together. They’re soul mates. Once I fire my arrow that’s it. They’re in love.” The Cupid turned to Castiel. “Am I in trouble brother?”

For a moment the blue eyes simply stared into the middle distance before Castiel focused.

“No. This is our problem. You were only doing your job. On the other hand you cannot tell anyone about this development. Do you understand? It would compromise humanity and Creation.”

The Cupid’s eyes became large and watery. “Really? I won’t ever tell anyone brother. I swear. I swear on everything I hold sacred, like love and trust and-“

“Enough!” Crowley watched the Cupid flinch with satisfaction before turning back to Castiel. “We need to talk.”

\---

Despite a considerable stride length granted to him by particularly long legs Sam experienced what seemed like an eternity in the trek towards Dean. When he finally reached him he held out a hand and smiled brightly. His mother always said his dimples were one of his best features.

“Hi. I’m Sam. Sloan. Sam Sloan. I just moved here, and I noticed you from over there, so I thought I’d come over to say hi. To you. Hi to you, because that’s what people do when they introduce themselves.”

Sam’s hand hung in the air for a long time before Dean extended one hand, fingernails painted in scratched matte black and knuckles covered with scars, and shook carefully as if he wasn’t sure what he was holding.

“Dean.”

“Yeah, Dean. Lee told me that. Lee Matheson. My friend. Over there.” Sam gestured nervously without looking and watched as Dean’s eyes, _a dreamy green_ Sam thought even though the authors can assure you they are more hazel, flicked over his shoulder and went a little colder.

“I know him.” Dean was not striking Sam as the particularly friendly type. It wasn’t necessarily that, so much as Dean had never quite felt this way before and he wasn’t sure how to act. He also was unsure if the proper social response to Lee smirking at him over Sam’s shoulder was violence or a one-fingered salute. He settled for shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Oh. Well great we already have a friend in common. Look I just-“

“No we don’t.”

Sam blinked rapidly and then licked his lips. “What?”

“We don’t have a friend in common. That guy is a dick.” Sam watched Dean dig in his pockets before pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

“He’s uh – he’s been nothing but nice to me. But I guess if you-“

“He wants to fuck you kid.” Dean lit the cigarette and Sam tried to not audibly gasp in front of him. That probably wouldn’t be considered terribly cool. “He’s barking up the wrong tree though, ‘cause I got a feeling you ain’t putting out.”

Self-righteous fury overcame Sam in that moment and he plucked the cigarette from Dean’s mouth and crushed it under his heel before looking up to meet shocked green (hazel) eyes.

“Firstly, despite him speaking harshly of you I came over here because I thought you wouldn’t be some two-dimensional punk stereotype. Obviously I was wrong. Secondly, whether or not I _put out_ is certainly not something you’d know from simply meeting me, and not a thing you’re going to find out either. Lastly, your attitude isn’t impressive or original, and really only serves to lose you potential friends.”

Tension hung in the air as Dean stared at Sam gape-mouthed and the younger boy breathed heavily trying to get control of his sudden anger. He felt a hand on his shoulder and turned to see Crowley.

“We should go, Moose. Before you get into a fistfight.”

“Did you just list your grievances by number?” Dean sounded shocked, and amused all at the same time.

“Yeah, ok, we’ll go before I punch him.”

Sam turned back to Dean and saw the cocked eyebrow and the question. Instead of answering he huffed, spun on one heel, and stormed off. Lee followed him.

“I told you Sam he’s just-“

“Shut up Lee.”

\---

In the sixteen years Dean had known him Cas had shown three expressions. Pleasure at the taste of a cheeseburger, nonplussed when Dean used him to see if he wanted to kiss men, and sketchy when he asked if the Sam kid had been talking to someone.

“Dean have you considered applying to another school? You are very fond of the psychology courses you have been attending and they offer much better programs at other schools. Perhaps something on the West Coast? I am told it has a better market for musicians and some fine schools.”

“Did you just avoid the question? You’ve never avoided a question before.” Dean tested the sound of his guitar before he started fiddling with the tuning pegs.

“Well you have never asked a question I was uncomfortable answering before.” Castiel reached out and twisted a peg before nodding in the direction of the guitar.

“Can I at least fucking ask why it makes you uncomfortable? Is it another angel? Like on you hate or something?”

His Guardian Angel tilted his head inquisitively. “Hate? I do not hate any of my brothers. On the contrary I am-“

“Cas. Avoiding. Again.” Dean strummed a power chord and then stretched his fingers.

“No. You may not.” With that his angel disappeared and left him holding a flawlessly tuned guitar and a ton of questions.

Dean didn’t particularly care for questions, at least not this kind, because they led to introspection and that had never ended well for him. Instead he packed the guitar and headed out the back door to the Impala.

Maybe if he saw the kid again he’d try to be nicer. Or at least learn his name.

\----

“How did you mess this up? You had _one job_ and you messed it up! Did you even try to watch out for Dean or did you just hand him off to your scruffy little friend and sit back in your books?” Crowley was fuming, face red and hands gripped into fists.

Aziraphale looked vaguely impressed, as Castiel was completely emotionless by his side. “To be fair Crowley you didn’t recognize Dean or the town he was supposed to be living in, and Castiel has been there with Dean for sixteen years.”

Crowley slumped into a chair and took a big drink of whiskey. “To be fair this is cocked up beyond repair.”

“Well if you had stayed away from my charge-“

“If your charge wasn’t flashing his ass at my moose-“

“Wait.” They both turned and looked to Aziraphale, who had put his book down and was looking over the tops of his spectacles. “Why is this a bad thing?”

“What?” Crowley was frozen in place, surprised for only the third time since he met the angel in the Garden.

“Let them be together. They’re still out of the spotlight so no one is going to find them and propose they end the world. What does it hurt that they’re devoted to each other?”

The reader should be reminded here that once again good and evil are entirely subjective.

“Incest. You are talking incest Aziraphale. You know that right?”

“Our Father already made them soul mates. It’s obviously the plan. Let’s just help it along. Where will Dean be tonight?”

Castiel blinked once before clearing his throat. “The Music Box. Like every Friday night.”

“And where will Sam be?”

Crowley finished his drink and put the empty glass on the table. “The Music Box.”

\---

“Why are you telling me what to wear? And why are we going to a club?”

Sam watched Crowley suspiciously as the demon played with a fake ID that would gain him entrance.

“Can’t a bloke be interested in what another bloke is wearing without it being a big deal? Honestly Samuel it’s like you don’t trust me to have your best interests at heart. It hurts me.”

He buttoned up the blue shirt and then Crowley approached and un-tucked it.

“It’s not that I don’t – Crowley what exactly is going on? Why are you so interested in me looking good and going to this place? Are they gonna serve me a bunch of alcohol and finally talk me into re-thinking my goody-two-shoes ways?” Sam re-adjusted his shirt and picked up his cellphone.

“I am sure there will be a good deal of drinking, and if you’re interested you can take part. In the meantime I could spend some more time with people who know how to have fun instead of babysitting you all the time.”

Sam finished off his text message and turned back towards the demon. “Why do you still babysit me if you hate it so much?”

Crowley pointed to the phone. “Who the hell are you sending off messages to anyway? You don’t know anybody but me and your parents.”

“I know Lee.” Sam watched Crowley’s look of disbelief and horror. “What? He’s a good guy.”

“He’s a ponce. He’s a ridiculous stuffed up peacock with no idea how to do anything other than preen his feathers and watch _Jersey Shore_.”

Sam mussed his hair, straightened it, and then mussed it again before throwing his hands up.

“Crowley, we don’t know that he watches _Jersey Shore_ , and peacocks don’t watch TV.” Sam accepted the fake ID carefully before sliding it into his wallet. “And maybe I’ll have a beer.”

“Oh goody. It must be my birthday.”

\---

The Music Box was originally built in 1976 and was called “Tad Beaufort Worthington III’s”. The bulky title belonged both to the shop, and the unpleasant young man that owned it. Tad Beaufort Worthington III was given that name as a form of possessive aggressive anger on the part of his father. He was raised to believe that the name was a gift that made him untouchable and likable.

Neither of those things were true.

When the little store containing everything from clothing to kitchen goods began to struggle Tad changed its name to “Macy’s”. The store’s success went through the roof as the town of Lebanon had not had such a thing before and were unsure if they ever would again. People flocked into the building in the hopes of being a part of the glamorous shopping experience they had seen so often in television and movies. They bragged about their new Macy’s to fellow towns.

Tad finally had the approval of his peers and family that he had always longed for. What he didn’t have was the legal right to name his store Macy’s.

The building remained empty for ten years before it was bought by group of local college students and converted into a bar with a large stage. It has since housed every band in Lebanon despite their respective quality. The only requirement to play at The Music Box was that your instruments were electric and your sound was loud. Dean’s band fit both of those requirements.

He liked to play, liked the thrill of being on stage, and most importantly he liked the incredibly easy young men and women that flocked the stage and reached for him. It was easy, and it filled time in between classes, homework, and his part-time job at the shop with his father.

What Dean didn’t like was that he was stuck on stage playing for the crowd as he watched the kid he’d spotted earlier dance with Lee Matheson. He waited until a set break to descend and head for the bar where he saw the tall young man slouched.

“You aren’t old enough to be here.” The bartender delivered him his usual and he over tipped to show his gratitude that Bob ignored the one year gap to legality.

“What?” The kid leaned in and squinted at him. He smelled of sweat, cologne, and beer a combination that is only attractive to people in love and fetishists.

“You’re not old enough to be here!” Bob shot Dean a look and he apologized with his eyebrows.

“Really? That’s what you came over here for? To hassle me about my age?” The kid waved a hand and started to walk away but Dean gave into instinct as he was wont to do and grabbed one bony wrist before the kid could disappear.

“I’m sorry about earlier. I was just off my game.”

There was a moment where he thought the kid would leave anyway, and then instead the wrist twisted in his grip and the slanted hazel eyes moved up to meet his.

“What game?”

“The one where I pick you up if you’re legal to date.”

The kid’s eyes widened, and then he broke into a smile that showed white teeth and dimples. Dean’s heart rate picked up a bit.

“I’m here with somebody.”

“Lee? Lee couldn’t satisfy himself sweetheart, what’s he gonna do for you?”

He watched the flush rising on the kid’s cheeks and licked his lips.

“You don’t even know my name.”

“You could fix that. Just-“

“Dean Winchester, get your lousy ass back on stage!” Sarah the bassist called out over the sound system. Sarah had legendarily abysmal timing.

“Tell me your name.” Dean leaned back in and pressed his lips against the kid’s ear. “And I’ll sing you any song you want.”

The kid’s grin was back. “Sam. And I want a pop song. Something that fits me.”

Lee came up then and put a hand on Sam’s shoulder. Dean grinned at the other boy before focusing on Sam. “I got just the thing.”

It is a testament to the charm and manipulation of Dean Winchester that he talked his recalcitrant, punk music loving band mates into playing the Spin Doctors’ “Two Princes”. Considering it earned him a name, a phone number, and the safety of the world? It was probably worth it despite Sarah’s complaints and the general confusion of the crowd.

\---

**What Follows Is The Work Of Only The Apostle Bartholomew, As The Other Prudes Writing This Wanted To Condense It To A Paragraph**

Love, in one form or another, has been around since the beginning. The New Testament writers will say God is love, but anyone in the know will dare you to say that to Him and not get laughed at. It’s a little like saying God is magic, or God is a toaster. Technically, yes, because He is everywhere and in all things, but no one calls God a toaster on a regular basis. Well there’s probably somebody but this author doesn’t know their name or else a public shaming would totally be in order.

Any way you phrase it though love is an integral part of the universe, and it has been around since before the light and dark were separated and the world started forming out thought stuffs and clay or whatever it is that made the world. This isn’t about the world though it’s about love.

Cupids only serve a basic function in that they open people’s eyes to the importance of a thing that was already in the cards for them. Not every love is created and nurtured with an arrow, and not every relationship begins with divine intervention. Sometimes people figure things out on their own.

In the case of Sam and Dean Winchester it is equal parts fate and divine intervention that brought them together, but once they were together again it was love that lifted them out of obscurity and banality.

For the most part the relationship developed as young love is supposed to. They argued about things they were interested in, who should hang up first, who said the wrong thing when, and which snack food was best. These arguments were overly passionate, sometimes explosive, and ended in silence and scowling.

They went places, hung on each other, and generally made a nuisance of themselves to old ladies, conservative bigots, and anyone who disapproves of publicly sharing the beauty of love. The two watched movies, TV shows, and Sam tried to talk Dean into books while Dean pushed the glory of video games.

Between the two of them they could have alternately blistered the ears of young children and sent a diabetic into a sugar coma. They fluctuated between overly sweet, distantly fond, and passionately hateful on an hourly basis.

Dean’s father liked Sam, thought he would be a good influence on Dean and maybe talk his boy into finally taking off the nail polish and leaving his hair one color for longer than two weeks. Sam’s parents were afraid of Dean and watched their son with a close eye while talking constantly about how they never saw that nice Lee boy around anymore, because parents are prone to thinking they know better when they don’t know anything.

The only argument that ever lasted though, and the thing that kept them from being like most young couples, is that Dean refused to cross certain lines with Sam until he had at least graduated from high school. Sam’s response, that he was already more mature than Dean so if anyone was taking advantage it was him, didn’t get him very far.

Dean would make out with him, press him against walls and hold him there while he plundered Sam’s mouth, stretch out over him on the bed and suck marks into his neck, but he would go no further than that. Ultimately it left both of them highly frustrated, infinitely tense, and constantly handsy.

The author would like to take this time to clarify a point about Biblical exegesis and the hideous lack of care taken towards logical consideration. God, the Lord, King of All Kings, and General Master of Everything Existing Even Bellybutton Lint Which Does Serve A Purpose Thank You Very Much, does not care if two teenage boys have sex. He does not care if two teenage girls have sex, if a person pleasures themselves to videos, or wears fancy leather get-ups and spanks a consenting partner while calling them names and pulling on their nipple clamps.

God does not care because as long as people try to be generally good to one another than all of His real requirements are covered. In this sense it is a sad fact of humanity that sexuality is given a variety of labels and rules that have no place in God’s Unknowable Plan. Which may seem like a contradiction, but this author has argued this point with the Lord many times and wishes he’d had this knowledge when he was alive and refusing himself certain temple ladies in the interest of being “good”.

Because of these ridiculous sexual restrictions, a list of socially created “positive” characteristics he was lacking, and socio-economic factors Dean was being “good” by not taking things further with Sam. He saw the younger man as better than him, and because of that he was hesitant to “sully” his Sam even as he was unwilling to give him up. If the authors of the Bible had access to sarcastic quotation marks things would be a lot different today.

Sam, for his part, was trying very hard to get along with Dean’s restrictions without allowing his own self-esteem issues overwhelm him. Despite having chosen Dean as his significant other he was still spending time with Lee, and the older boy never missed a chance to remind Sam that Dean was a sexually promiscuous person and that if he wasn’t getting what he wanted Sam’s time was certainly limited.

In reaction to this Crowley began to take great pleasure in tiny bits of torture on Lee’s person in the form of flat tires, failing grades, and a particularly hilarious series of exploding drinks earning Lee a reputation as an incontinent fool. All of this would probably be labeled as proper demon behavior, but once again Lee was a douchebag and earned every moment.

All of this came to a head a few months before Sam’s graduation when he happened to mention to Dean that prom was coming up.

Dean, for his part, was listening despite what he would be accused of later, but was also attempting to re-attach a timing belt in his beloved Impala.

“So that means you’ll need a tux. Or whatever you know.”

“Yeah. That’s gonna happen in this lifetime.” Dean twisted the nut and then looked up to see Sam’s favorite bitchface staring back at him. _Shit_ , he thought helplessly. “I mean yeah I – wait for what?”

“Prom Dean. My prom. My senior prom which I have been talking to you about for the last fifteen minutes as you say ‘yeah’ and ‘uh-huh’ to sound like you’re listening.”

“Samuel calm down the boy is obviously taking you.” Crowley was probably over-qualified for this. At least he liked to think so.

“Dean it would be best if you were to tell him yes now. I believe this is a matter of great import to Sam.”

“I ain’t taking you to prom kiddo. For, like, a thousand reasons. We’ll go to the movies. They’re playing that new horror flick you wanted to see. I’ll blow my paycheck on snacks.” Dean twisted the nut the last time and then pulled his greasy hands out of the engine and wiped sweat from his forehead.

“You’re not – you can’t be serious. It’s prom Dean. I mean objectively it’s probably not a big deal, but I only get the one and I want to go. How can you not be willing to get dressed up _one night_ for me?” Sam slammed his book shut and stood, ramping up for a major argument.

“Dean you must tell him you will take him. Look at how angry he is.”

“Sammy wait, give the boy a minute. He’s obviously overwhelmed by-“

“Because it’s a stupid fucking dance for a bunch of teenage kids to get drunk when no one’s looking, grind in public, and then lose their virginities. I don’t dance, I’m pretty sure it’s illegal for me to drink around minors, and you’re not old enough for me to de-virginate you.”

The moment it was out of Dean’s mouth he experienced a common emotion amongst those tragic men who fall in love but have little filter between their brains and their mouths.

“Yeah. Ok. Never mind.” Sam stood and shouldered his backpack. “I gotta go.”

“Wait Sammy, I thought we were-“

“We weren’t.” And then Sam was gone.

\---

For a few days Dean thought he’d gotten out of it. Sam shook off the malaise fairly quickly and seemed to be fine. There were no more arguments and Sam smiled at him like always. As consolation Dean began to work on a song for Sam, made him a romantic dinner complete with no less than three candles, and worked his way up to giving Sam a handjob.

The night of prom Dean sent Sam a text asking if they were going out to the movie theater. Sam responded that he couldn’t as he was going to prom with Lee.

Without being aware of it Crowley and Castiel went into crisis mode at the same time.

“Moose you can’t be serious. Lee? You’re happy with Dean, and this is stupid. Lee is annoying and will only use the night to try to-“

“Take advantage of me? Well why not Crowley? I mean come on, maybe it’s time for it. After all everyone thinks I’m too stupid or weak to defend myself and know when I’m ready. You should be happy. Isn’t sleeping around and getting drunk in that moral code you wanted for me?”

Crowley rubbed unhappily at his forehead, because technically it was. “I want you to be happy Sammy and this isn’t the way.”

Sam fixed his cummerbund and headed for the front door. “Whatever. Dean doesn’t want me? I’ll show him what he’s taking for granted.”

Across town the blue-eyed angel was watching Dean trash his already questionably organized room.

“Dean this is not the end of things. All you must do is buy some flowers and go to Sam’s prom. There are a variety of human movies in which the man makes a public gesture and-“

“Fuck that noise Cas. Fuck it. You know what if this is what this whole thing means to him then maybe it’s not worth saving. I mean just ‘cause I won’t go to prom with him? How fucking ridiculous is that?”

The angel grabbed at Dean’s hands and stopped his destruction while healing the bruises and cuts in his knuckles.

“You are being foolish and stupid. Samuel is the best thing that ever happened to you. Get a nice shirt on, wear that leather bracelet Sam likes so much, and pick some of Mrs. O’Malley’s irises so that you can go to that prom and sweep him off his feet before he really is out of your reach.”

Dean jerked back, surprised and a little scared, and then tried to shake it off and look unruffled.

“Yeah ok. Maybe I could – I mean yeah. Ok Cas.”

\---

The two angels sat side by side as Crowley sipped his drink.

“Are you sure we should not attend the prom to assure their behavior and success?” Castiel looked between the two older beings with some concern and curiosity.

At least as much as he ever showed.

“No need. I can tell you right now how it’s gonna go. Dean’ll have some trouble getting in the door because of his age, he’ll talk his way in, punch Lee, and sweep Sam off his feet. Give my boy what he needs and the two of them will end the night in the backseat of his ridiculous car sweaty and covered in fluids. You really wanna witness that angel?”

They had been drinking for long enough at this point that Aziraphale had the dreamy look on his face that promised blackmail material and laughs galore. Crowley could not wait.

“Maybe it would be impor-portant to witness such a thing. For my collection. Of knowledge.” Aziraphale leaned forward and pointed at Crowley. “No gutter thoughts you.”

“No of ‘course not. Totally reasonable.” Crowley smiled. “Or you could just experiment yourself with Thursday over there.”

“I do not believe that Aziraphale is seriously interested in using me to understand sexual procreation. Also, considering that we have no real sex it would be a different outcome than watching two human males-“

The radio station crackled and popped, leaving Coldplay behind and moving to Queen for a brief moment before an excited demon voice cut over it.

“Lord Crowley? Looking for Lord Crowley?”

“Shit. Work boys. Give me a moment.” Crowley leaned into the radio and focused. “Yes?”

“Sir you’re going to want me to meet you right away. You won’t believe what I just did!” The demon sounded young, excitable, and generally over-enthused. Never a good sign with demons.

“I’m at a bookstore in Lebanon, Missouri. Meet me there.”

Both angels raised an eyebrow but Crowley waved his hand. “Too low level to know exactly what you are or to talk.  If there’s a problem we’ll simply execute it.“

The demon arrived a few moments later in a pretty female meat suit. Too few moments.

“Sir, sir you will not believe this. I just made a deal with _Dean Winchester_. The Dean Winchester. For a boy named Sam.” In her excitement she forgot herself and grabbed him. “One year for the boy’s life. Do you think it’s possible he’s _the_ Sam? The Boy King Azazel created before his murder?”

Castiel stepped forward and laid his palm on the demon, burning it out of existence.


	3. Chapter 3

**Part 3:**

“Plan A hadn’t worked. Plan B had failed. Everything depended on Plan C, and there was one drawback to this: he had only ever planned as far as B.”  
-Terry Pratchett _Good Omens_

It is said that God loves a drunk. Science has proven that the actual phenomena of drunks coming out of car crashes relatively unharmed is that the person in question is too impaired to tense up before the impact, and that this affects a number of potential strains and injuries.

God’s actual opinion on drunks changes rather frequently, but in the end it’s probably something along the lines of, “They’re my children too.” Asking him is pointless.

What Dean did not know when he arrived at the high school and crashed the prom was that Sam, in his anger, had accepted quite a few drinks from Lee’s flask. Feeling rather loose and inebriated for the first time in his life Sam used the occasion to complain to his friend about his boyfriend and the myriad reasons he was there with Lee and not Dean.

Lee was less than pleased. The result was that Lee drank more heavily from his flask than originally intended.

In Dean’s defense he did everything right upon his arrival to further a romantic comedy. He forced his way past the girl taking tickets, embarrassed himself by calling out for Sam, and risked censure and punishment by the established authority when he took Sam in his arms in front of the crowd and kissed him.

All of that went to plan. What did not fit was when Sam pushed away and quite drunkenly asked, “Are you finally going to go all the way with me?”

Dean knew the look of a drunk all too well. “Sam, what the hell have you been – you know what? Never mind. Look let’s just go and we’ll talk about this in private ok?”

 

“No. Right here. You tell me right here.” Sam poked at his chest, and Dean took a deep breath and tried to be calm.

“Ok Sammy, but outside. Alright? Outside.”

Dean led the drunk young man out the door and glared when he realized Lee was following.

“Fuck off Lee this isn’t-“

“He can stay ‘til I know. I wanna know Dean. Wanna know if I’m finally good enough for you.”

If Sam had been a little more sober he would have recognized the look of confusion and shock on Dean’s face. “Good enough? Baby it’s never been that. You’re – Jesus Sammy you gotta know I’m not good enough for you. That it’s never been about that.”

Sam’s eyes went wet and huge. “Dean. Ah, Dean. I’m sorry. Sorry.” He threw his arms around his boyfriend and held on. “You’re just as good. Better. I’m just – Dean.”

And that would have been fine. If Dean had simply plucked Sam up, taken him home, and made things go from there everything would have been just fine. Except Dean Winchester was a young man who perceived more flaws than he had, and didn’t control the few he really needed to.

“Okay Sammy. I’ll take you home and we’ll talk about it tomorrow.”

Then Dean found himself on the ground, and before he could get an idea of how that happened Sam was already storming away with Lee in tow.

What happens next will be given in a piecemeal format, as the authors are very fond of the Winchesters and would like to avoid focusing on this part.

The point is, God doesn’t love a drunk any more than anyone else, and that means that sometimes drunks get hurt just as badly as sober people. When Dean realized that Lee was driving Sam, and that Lee was probably as drunk as Sam if not worse, he ran for the Impala and chased after them. This gave him a front row seat to Lee going off-road and crashing into a tree.

What he missed was Lee jerking the wheel when Sam pushed his hands off.

The rest is a tragedy that can be summarized in this: Dean Winchester, whether he knew it or not, was not meant to live without his brother. Wasn’t built that way. When he reached the wreckage and found Sam bleeding to death that void that had always been in him seemed to grow and consume. Sitting there in the dark, Sam cradled in his arms as he pled and begged, staring out over the empty crossroads, Dean made the only offer he could.

He knew that there were angels. It made sense for there to be something on the other side.

When the woman arrived Dean agreed to one year. He agreed to anything, and he didn’t think twice about it because Sam’s eyes opened and he was looking at him again.

“Baby, oh god Sammy, oh thank you. Thank you.” Dean pulled Sam up enough to kiss him breathless and then pull back panting against his lips.

“Dean? What happened?”

The older boy pulled back, pushed hair out of Sam’s eyes, and held his gaze. “You guys crashed. You guys crashed but you’re okay. You’re gonna be okay Sammy.”

And that was all that mattered to him. When Sam cried about Lee, when he asked Dean how he could have gotten out alright, and if Dean was hurt Dean just held on to him. He didn’t let go all the way to the Impala, and he held Sam’s hand until they reached Dean’s house and he pulled him inside.

Sam didn’t ask questions once he’d seen the level of distraught Dean was at. Suddenly cold sober and terribly embarrassed and guilty about his actions Sam let Dean lead him into the shower and wash the blood and grime off his skin. When Dean practically carried him to his bed Sam let himself being manhandled under the sheets and wrapped up in Dean’s tight hold.

“Dean? I’m really sorry about tonight. I just – I kept thinking about how you-“

“Shut up Sammy.” Dean pressed his lips against Sam’s forehead to ease the hurt. “Shut up and just let me hold on okay? I was terrified that – I love you Sam.”

Which was when three divine beings landed in Dean’s room practically on top of each other.

“What the hell did-“

“Dean what were you-“

“Hello Sam and Dean-“

Sam held up a hand and then stared at the two new beings. Dean had one arm protectively in front of Sam and a look of death on his face.

“Who the hell are you two?”

The younger man’s eyes cut to him and then back to the little group.

“You know one of them? So you have an invisible friend too?”

“An invisible – what? You mean Cas? He’s an angel Sam.”

Sam made a face as he studied Crowley. “Mine’s the short one. He’s definitely not an angel.”

“The one that looks like he’s going out to knock on doors. How long has – wait no. What the fuck is going on?”

“Exactly what we were planning on asking you two numbskulls. You _sold your soul_. Why?”

Dean tried to stop him, he really did, but once it was out Sam was unstoppable. “You did what? How could – why would – what the hell Dean? What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking you were dead!” Sam blanched and Dean grabbed him tightly. “You died Sam and I just – I couldn’t – what was I supposed to do?”

“Go on living you big jerk!” Sam pulled back and stared at Dean. “Go on living because that’s what you’re supposed to do.”

“Bitch.” Sam sniffled thickly and smiled at Dean’s endearment.

“Boys, this is touching, really, but we need to focus. Technically all contracts go through my boss, and if she’s seen this one getting it back is going to be difficult.”

Both boys turned to stare at Crowley.

“You’re a demon. I knew it!” Sam, ever the academic, briefly forgot his misery in favor of enjoying finally having an answer.

“Why the hell is a demon following you around?”

Aziraphale took control of the situation here, as a divine being can only be ignored for so long before they begin to get annoyed.

“For the same reason you’ve been followed around by an angel. Because you both needed it. Now we need to focus on the problem at hand, which is getting Dean’s contract voided. Crowley is there any way to do it?”

“Well, I suppose there might be a way if I tried but… Saving souls is sort of against my protocol.”

Sam was out of the bed, heedless of his nudity as he launched himself at the demon that had been with him his entire life and wrapping his arms around him.

“Crowley please, please you gotta save him! Please save him!”

It is at this moment that the authors would like to state a thing that their subject would never admit. Crowley liked Sam. It is possible to go so far as to say Crowley loved Sam, as much as a demon was capable of loving. Crowley would never admit it, but it felt good to be hugged by Sam. He hadn’t been hugged since before the fall.

He pushed Sam back and rubbed at his face as if annoyed. “Put some clothes on Moose. I’ll do what I can.”

Dean and Sam watched as the three began to argue. He turned to his boyfriend. “So your whole life you’ve been hanging out with a demon and you’re still one step away from an altar boy?”

Sam shook his head. “Not for a lack of trying on his part. You’ve been with an angel and you’re a slutty rocker.”

The laughter was good for Sam to hear, erased some of the lingering memory of Dean crying helplessly into his hair, and that was something he needed more than he’d thought. The boys turned their attention back to the three non-humans just as Crowley was making one of his grandiose hang gestures.

“So we need a plan that-“

“Several.” Aziraphale and Crowley turned disbelieving eyes on the previously silent Castiel.

“What?” Both the angel and demon tilted their heads, because after a certain number of centuries it is impossible to not share some traits.

“Every time the two of you make a plan it goes badly, and then you are forced to make a secondary plan with no preparation that also goes badly. It seems that if you were to come up with a series of plans and contingencies for those plans than this sort of trouble could be avoided.”

“ _Burn_.” All eyes turned to Dean and he smirked broadly. “Seriously. Burn dudes.”

“That’s wonderful that you’re so amused by this Winchester. On the other hand the adults need to speak and it’d be best if the peanut gallery remain silent and not dis-“

Aziraphale pressed a hand against Crowley’s shoulder and turned to Castiel. “That’s it.”

“I don’t understand.” The blue-eyed angel looked in between them and then over to Dean in hope that he would explain the social cues Castiel was missing as he had been for sixteen years. Dean looked just as confused.

“A distraction. If we distract-“

“Lilith from finding the contract before she sees it you I can steal it. But what would possibly bring her out of Hell short of a-“

The three sets of inhuman eyes settled onto Dean and Sam, and both boys raised their eyebrows.

“I don’t like that look. Dean why are they looking at us like that?” Sam pulled the blanket a little higher.

“I dunno Sammy, but it can’t be anything good.”

\---

“Who the hell are all of you, and what are you doing here with my son and his boyfriend?”

Dean and Sam had dressed, and were sitting together in the beat-up old armchair John usually took. Normally Dean would have left that chair open to soothe his father as much as it could and taken other seating, but the couch was housing two angels of the Lord and the Vice President in Charge of North American Crossroads. Plus, at the moment, his father didn’t look like he cared to sit.

“Mr. Winchester if you’d please relax and listen to us, this is very important. You see the issue is that-“

“Wings. Horns, halos, robes, harps, pitchfork, inhuman features. You three lack all of these other than your bright-eyed friend there and his lack of expression. Convince me you’re not perverts who pressured my son and his boyfriend into lying for you so I didn’t shoot you on sight.”

It is unknown to this day whether there was a part of John that recognized Sam, or if he simply had come to like the boy that much, but he’d unconsciously angled himself in between both boys and the three beings on his couch.

“Stereotypes Papa Winchester, and hurtful ones each. As if I’m required to be some cartoon character capering about on hooves and demanding your soul while twisting my beard.” To be fair this was not Crowley attempting to ramp John up for fun. It really is hurtful that all humans assume their ridiculous characterizations apply to an entire group of fairly diverse beings. Not that any of them are bitter.

In John’s defense even when offended Crowley tends to sound sarcastic.

“Alright, shotgun time.” John started to herd the boys out when the lights in the room flickered and Castiel stood over them with the shadowy impressions of his wings spread out behind him.

Which ended the first part of the argument and began the second.

“You’ve been following my son around for _how long_?” John eyed Castiel suspiciously and the angel quirked his eyebrow before gesturing.

“Since he was four. So you see we need you to come with us to-“

“Dean did he ever – you know touch you or anything?” John looked embarrassed as he shifted uncomfortably on his feet.

“No he didn’t touch me. Dad, focus okay? This is serious.”

“-make a distraction that will allow Crowley the chance to take back the contract for your son’s soul. Then we will have to talk about long-term hiding for the group of you.”

“And why did you let him go off on his own if you’re his guardian-“

“What do you mean hiding?” Dean shot his father an apologetic look as he interrupted.

“Hiding Dean. As in not being found, because that’s what’ll happen if you stay around here. I thought Castiel and Crowley have quite extensively explained that point.” Aziraphale adjusted his glasses carefully to avoid showing just how annoyed he was at repetition.

“Yeah, I get that, but Sam can’t go anywhere. He’s almost done with his senior year and then he’s already been accepted to a really great school so-“

“I don’t care about that.” Now it was Sam in the spotlight, and he ducked his head for a moment before raising it and meeting Dean’s eyes. “I care about you being alive and being with you. In that order and before you say it there’s nothing wrong with listing your points it’s a logical thing to do. Fuck college Dean. I can take online courses or pick a really obscure school. I can fry burgers as long as you’re with me and be perfectly happy.”

The authors will emphasize here that despite any objections they may have both John and Dean Winchester suffered from fairly damp eyes at that moment. John was pleased his son had found someone to love him the way he had loved Mary, and Dean was overwhelmed with how devoted Sam was to him.

It was that look that made John’s mind up. He was already willing to do anything to protect Dean, but now he was sure that Sam needed to be a part of that fold. In a matter of irony that only the readers of this account and the a few others know John decided Sam was an honorary Winchester.

“Fine. I’ll do it.”

\---

“This seems like a terrible idea.” John looked around the empty warehouse before turning back to the two angels. “I mean really terrible. Who summons demons? Are we trying to make them think I’m a witch?”

Aziraphale rubbed at the bridge of his nose while Castiel finished drawing the lines out on the floor.

“John they will think that you are a hunter of supernatural creatures. There was a time when that is what you were supposed to be. It’s what they are looking for.”

“Why didn’t I become a hunter and why was I going to be one?” John eyed the knife the angel had given him before shifting it to a better grip.

“Because had that have happened your son would be a miserable alcoholic with no ability to form lasting relationships, you would be an absentee father who abandoned him, and Sam would be twisted and manipulated by the worst of Hell’s inhabitants. Instead the group of you are slightly dysfunctional and coming together to avoid an unimaginably bad destiny. Now is there anything else you absolutely _must_ know before we get started?”

“When did angels become prissy sons of bitches?” John kept one eye on Castiel as he approached them while the other studied Aziraphale.

“That question is terribly unfair. Also, shut up and do your part John.”

And he did.

\---

The authors are fairly biased on the part of Heaven. With that in mind demons have a terrible habit of being cocky to the point of carelessness. In the case of the President in Charge of North American Crossroads, also known as Lilith, could not resist the chance to answer a summons from the long missing John Winchester.

Lilith, around since early on, knew enough about the original prophecy to understand how important the Winchesters were and what John was supposed to do to start the ball rolling on the Apocalypse. With that in mind she crashed into the warehouse with a sense of purpose knowing that wherever he had been all these years he had no chance against her. If she was particularly lucky he would have brought his sons and then she could kick start the whole thing with one move.

What Lilith did not expect, knowing that she was destined to die in a small church as the Last Seal, was to have two very experienced and powerful angels step out of the shadows and break protocol. John’s use of the angel blade was more for his own pride than anything else, as the combined Grace of Castiel and Aziraphale burned the very essence of Lilith out of existence.

In that moment Crowley achieved two things: the revocation of Dean Winchester’s contract, and a serious promotion to President in Charge of North American Crossroads. He was considering removing the democratic air to it and labeling himself King. He was also interested in celebrating with the only people he could gloat with.

On John’s part he had too many questions about what had, or hadn’t in this case, happened to be overly joyous, but knowing that his son’s soul was safe certainly helped him to crack a smile.

Aziraphale and Castiel shared a long look, angels being capable of a ridiculous amount of communication with only gazes and micro-expressions, and then took John back home.

Dean and Sam, forced to wait behind, argued over Sam’s future until they fell into a rather impassioned make out session that ended in more arguing with fewer scowls.

Here the authors will spare you large amounts of conversation regarding the necessities of a proper high school education, the limits to which a twenty-one-year-old should touch a sixteen-year-old, and what cities and schools would best serve them as they hid from anyone who may still know what they were destined for.

Despite the death of the Last Seal in a very non-ritualistic fashion they were taking every precaution against future developments. Crowley had finally crafted a plan with contingencies.

What happened, in the end, was a very banal series of events linked to a very legendary one. Sam gave in and finished his senior year. He announced to his parents that he would be attending a small but respectable school in West Virginia, and they eventually gave in as long as he promised to keep in touch regularly and visit as often as any college student should.

John, knowing now how much lay behind the scenes and how close it came to both his son and the boy he thought of as a son, was focused on cleaning himself up so that he could better devote himself to their protection.

Castiel and Crowley agreed on a schedule for overseeing the safety of the two boys, and consequently their father. This schedule fell a little heavier on Castiel, as Crowley had increased responsibilities and a serious concern as to how attached he had become to Sam.

And Sam and Dean? Well Sam and Dean did what they always do, and always will do. They devoted themselves to each other. They worked together to grow, to change, and to be better so that every day was a test to how much more they could love one another.

Most importantly they did it while gruffly hiding their emotions and fighting over stupid topics to avoid deeper discussion. They did it as they watched each other’s backs and distrusted the majority of the world around them.

They did it together.

 

**Epilogue:**

“‘Maybe it's all part of a great big ineffable plan. All of it. You, me, him, everything. Some great big test to see if what you've built all works properly, eh? You start thinking: it can't be a great cosmic game of chess, it has to be just very complicated Solitaire. And don't bother to answer. If we could understand, we wouldn't be us. Because it's all — all — INEFFABLE’, said the figure feeding the ducks.”  
-Terry Pratchett, _Good Omens_

**Or The Secondary Section Insisted Upon By Bartholomew Because Without It A Serious Plot Point Remains Unresolved And Leaves The Audience Unfulfilled And Annoyed**

Two hours after Sam’s graduation, when cake had been cut and parents given their boasting picture time, Dean found himself standing in front of a small motel room door holding a key and staring in confusion at Sam.

“What are we – what’s going on Sam?”

Sam responded by taking the key, opening the door, and shoving Dean through. The two of them fell into their regular rhythm, lips pressed against one another and fingers skimming up clothes to tug and pull. Sam managed to distract Dean long enough to get him down to socks and boxers before Dean finally stopped him.

“Baby, look around you. You really wanna lose your virginity in a cowboy themed room? There are antlers up there.” He pointed helplessly as Sam exploited the knowledge that sucking on Dean’s collarbone disconnected his brain.

“Shut up.” He mumbled through a mouthful of skin before hooking his fingers into the elastic of Dean’s boxers and taking a deep breath of Dean’s scent.

Finally, after battling through a ridiculous amount of hormones and arousal, Dean grabbed Sam’s shoulders and pushed him back even as he gasped at the fingertips skimming his cock.

“Sammy, you gotta be sure. Don’t do this to me unless you’re sure. I can wait and make it special.”

Hazel eyes sparkled, dimples appeared, and Sam kissed the serious look off of Dean’s face before sinking to his knees and licking around the head of Dean’s cock. “What are you going to do Dean spread out flower petals?” His tongue curled along the nerves there before sliding down and keeping pressure against the vein. Dean moaned helplessly and clutched at Sam’s hair. “Play Mr. Big and massage me in a bubble bath?”

Dean thrust helplessly into Sam’s mouth and pulled him forward when serious suction finally enveloped the swollen head and slid down the shaft. Sam stayed there for a bit, bobbing gently and shallowly while his hand handled the part of Dean’s dick he wasn’t able to swallow. Finally he pulled back and looked up to meet Dean’s eyes.

“It’s special because it’s you. It means everything because it’s you. And I’m really fucking horny and I wasn’t to lose my virginity and then maybe top you afterwards, because I’m a teenager and I have a refractory time of seconds.”

The older boy pulled him off the floor and shoved him towards the bed before plucking up Sam’s jeans and searching for the lube and condom his anal retentive boyfriend had no doubt brought.

“Yahtzee.” He crossed the dingy carpet and stretched himself over Sam before kissing and nipping the pink lips he loved so much and slowly working his way down. They’d gone this far before, albeit with more clothes on, so Dean knew the erogenous spots that made Sam whimper and moan.

He took his time, mapped out the numerous inches of his still growing boy, and eventually made it past the nipples, along the sharp hipbones, into the bellybutton, and then beyond to Sam’s weeping and hard cock.

“Gonna make this so good Sammy. Gonna be so good to you baby I promise.” He lifted Sam’s hips a bit and then gently massaged each ass cheek as his mouth worked up and down Sam’s shaft and ghosted across his balls. “Gonna make you so crazy baby you’ll never think of anyone else.”

“Yeah, yeah that’s – oh fuck Dean please. Please _do it_. Been waiting forever.”

“The impatience of youth.” Dean smirked against Sam’s dick before swallowing it down and petting his rim gently with his thumb.

It took longer than Sam wanted, at least half an hour of licking and fingering that brought him to one explosive orgasm and well on his way to a second, before Dean finally slipped the condom on and slicked his cock up.

The penetration was slow, gentle, Dean inching his way in with tiny thrusts and circular hip movements as Sam gripped the bed sheets and fought to relax. Still, by the time Dean was fully seated in him Sam was cursing for more as sweat pooled in the dip of spine and beaded on his forehead.

And Dean gave it to him. Long slow thrusts as he jacked Sam’s cock and murmured loving endearments, shallow and quick jerks as he pinched Sam’s nipples and told him how “good and tight, how hot and fucking sweet” he was. The changes in pace, tone, and technique left Sam on a constant edge that reduced him to whimpers of Dean’s name and jerks of his own hips.

When Sam hit the limit, coming around Dean’s cock and shouting his name, Dean grabbed his hips and thrust in deeply as a bark escaped him and the world faded into gray.

Finally, after what may have seemed like a short time to Dean but was in reality a lifetime for both of them, they were joined in the last way they had to be.

\---

“Hey Dad.” Gabriel peered down towards the earth before looking up to his Father. “I got a question?”

The Lord nodded distractedly as He dealt the cards around the table. Michael, never good at keeping a poker face, scowled at his cards.

“Was that the plan the whole time? Having the Winchesters hook up thinking they’re not related?”

Joshua shook his head and dropped several cards on the table. “Two. Why do you ask these questions? You know how He’s going to answer.”

Michael resolutely gave up one card despite needing to fold and threw in his chips. “Of course it was on purpose. Did you not see the perfect balance of them meeting over ice cream? That sort of symmetry cannot be accidental Gabriel.”

The younger archangel cocked an eyebrow before giving up two of his own cards and matching Michael’s bet. “Well, Dad? Settle it for us. Was that the plan or did those bumbling idiots outsmart you and save the Winchesters from your ineffableness?”

The Lord dealt out the extra cards before turning His gaze upon Gabriel. “The group of you realize we’re playing Baccarat not poker right?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you like this art? That is because it was made by the enormously talented Forhimxx. May I suggest you go see more? http://forhimxx.livejournal.com/


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